Page 8 of Saving the Rockstar

I scowled, hunching down further in my seat. "It wasn't like that," I mumbled, aware that I sounded approximately five years old. "He was just doing his job. Probably sees hysterical celebrities have meltdowns every other day and has a whole script ready to go."

"Uh huh," Dylan said flatly. "And I'm sure that script also involves finding said hysterical celebrities stupidly attractive and fighting the urge to kiss them while murmuring comfort into their hair."

I could feel my face flushing, a dull heat creeping up the back of my neck that had nothing to do with the wine. "Shut up. He did not find me attractive."

"Asher." Dylan set down his glass, leveling me with a look. "I know you have zero self-awareness, but trust me when I say that the dude was seconds away from ripping your clothes off with his teeth. And in the fun, sexy way."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"That's insane," I managed, my voice sounding strained to my own ears. "You weren't even there, you don't know-"

"I know you," he cut in, kindly. "And I know that when you get freaked out, you have a tendency to lash out like a feral cat. Some might even call it a defense mechanism."

I glared at him, but I couldn't exactly argue. He wasn't wrong - I did have a nasty habit of going for the throat when I felt cornered, spewing the most hurtful words I could think of just to get the upper hand.

It was a holdover from my teenage years. If I hurt them first, if I hit where I knew it would smart, then they couldn't hurt me. Couldn't reject me. Couldn't leave.

Except they always did. And then I was alone, the only thing I'd accomplished pushing away anyone who might’ve actually given a shit.

"He was just being nice," I said quietly, more to my wine glass than to Dylan. "Doing the wholeprotect and servebit. Making sure the crazy rock star didn't do a swan dive off the balcony or something."

"Okay, one, I think you're severely underestimating how fine your crazy rock star ass is," Dylan said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "And two, you wouldn't be this tore up about it if you didn't feel something. And God, Asher, you haven’tfelt somethingin a very long time."

He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "I'm not saying you have to marry the guy. But it wouldn't kill you to let someone be nice to you for once. Let someone take care of you without assuming it's all some elaborate ruse."

I swallowed hard. He made it sound so simple. Like I could just waltz up to any stranger and bare my metaphoricalthroat, trusting that they wouldn't rip it out at the first opportunity.

The sound of my ringtone cut through the cozy hum. I fumbled for my phone, swearing under my breath when I saw Vivian's caller ID flashing on the screen.

Nothing good ever came from a late-night Vivian call. I shot Dylan an apologetic grimace before swiping to accept, bracing myself for impact. "Viv, hey. What's up?"

"Where are you right now?" she demanded, skipping right over any pretense of pleasantries. Her voice was tight, clipped in a way I'd rarely heard before.

"Uh, at dinner with Dylan. Why, what's going-"

"Is it somewhere private? Are you alone?"

I frowned. "I mean, we can step outside if-"

"No!" The sharp crack of her voice made me flinch. "No, don't go anywhere. I'm going to send you something, and I need you to stay calm, alright? Don't freak out."

"Well, I'm definitely freaking out now," I said tightly, my pulse starting to rabbit in my throat. Across the table, Dylan was watching me with open concern, his whole body tensed like he was ready to vault over the table and snatch the phone out of my hand.

"Just look," Vivian bit out, and then my screen was filling with a grainy, black and white image.

It took me a second to understand what I was seeing. But then the blood drained from my face so fast I got lightheaded.

It was me. More specifically, it was me pressed up against a brick wall, the dim, smoky interior of a club just visibleover my shoulder. It was the kind of club that prided itself on its discretion, promising a safe haven for closeted celebrities.

But that wasn't the worst part. No, the real kick in the teeth was the dark-haired man pinning me to the wall, one hand fisted in my collar and the other splayed possessively across my hip. His face was turned away from the camera, features obscured in shadow - but mine was on full display, my head tipped back and eyes closed in ecstasy.

"Asher, are you still there?"

I realized I was panting, my heart throwing itself against my ribs like it wanted to claw its way out of my chest.

"Where," I croaked. "Where did you get this? Who else has seen it?"

"It's everywhere," she said grimly, and my stomach bottomed out. "It leaked about an hour ago, and it's spreading like wildfire. Every gossip blog and tabloid on the planet is running with it."

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